Three
by PlayTheGame
Summary: Trish is happily engaged to John. Or is she? When one delves into the sins of their past, who knows what will creep up on them? And what if you were to awaken feelings that you never knew existed? Would you act on them? John/Trish/Randy
1. Prologue

**A/N** - I decided to scrap the idea I had for the huge fic I was planning and just run with this. I don't know if it's where I wanted this to go but we'll see what happens. This basically wrote itself the other day so I took it as a sign and decided to push forward. As always, any reviews/comments are greatly appreciated.

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**Prologue**

He wasn't coming. As her disappointed gaze fell upon the face of the clock for the umpteenth time that night, she fully realised that he wasn't coming. She should have known. Maybe she just didn't want to face up to the reality that his job was more important to him than her. It was a hard pill to swallow. But it was the truth. She knew that now. With a heavy sigh she gulped down the rest of her drink whilst glancing around the room. All her family and friends were here. Her mother insisted on throwing her this stupid birthday party when she had specifically told her that she didn't want one. And now here she was, in a room full of people here for her yet feeling utterly alone because the one person that she actually wanted to be here had more important things to do.

"Screw him," she scoffed, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. And screw everybody else too. She wasn't in the mood to celebrate. Everybody but her seemed to be having a good time. Maybe if she just slipped away nobody would notice. And if she was going to drown her sorrows about her relationship she sure as hell didn't want to do it here. With a plan in her head she subtly tried to manoeuvre her way through the throng of people in the bar. She may have been the guest of honour but she clearly wasn't going to be missed. But as she squeezed past the last person and stepped outside, she completely failed to notice the breathless man that burst through the door at the opposite end to her, his eyes searching for her but coming up short. He walked further into the room and stumbled upon her mother.

"Hey, have you seen Trish?"

"Oh John! You're here! I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. I think she's over there...somewhere!" she pointed in the direction of the bar. His eyes swept over the area but he didn't see her. His stomach clenched nervously. He hadn't meant to be so late but it really was for a valid reason this time. As soon as he heard the news all he wanted to do was rush here and tell her. It looked like that wasn't going to happen. He couldn't see her anywhere. Where the hell did she go?

* * *

"He's gone, sir. I'm sorry."

The silence hung in the air for a long time as everybody tried to grasp and comprehend what just happened. Their boss and their leader was dead. It would have massive implications. And the man who would feel the brunt of those implications tried to hide his smile. Finally. Finally he was going to have control of everything he ever wanted. A dead old man was a fair price to pay for absolute power in his eyes. His fists clenched excitedly at his side. An intense wave washed over his body. He could barely contain himself. But he couldn't let anybody know. They would be expecting him to be grief stricken. His face tightened and he let his body relax. He slowly raised his head and nodded grimly at the doctor.

"Thank you."

The same deafening silence lingered as the group just stood there. Randy looked around him at the unreadable faces of his father's most trusted advisors. They all worked for him now. Well, most of them would. He would make them swear their allegiance to him. Anybody that refused would be taken care of, simple as that. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find the concerned face of Ted DiBiase, his father's right hand man and confidant. They had moved up the ranks together in his grandfather's organization and had stuck together through thick and thin when it passed to his father. They were like brothers. And now he would serve him.

"Are you OK, son?"

"I'm fine," Randy nodded solemnly. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to head out for a little while."

"Randy!"

He turned around and looked at the other man questionably. "What?"

DiBiase sighed. The poor kid looked empty. He just wanted to be there for him and he didn't think getting smashed was the way to do it. From the looks of things, a bar seemed exactly the place where the new leader of the Orton crime family was headed. He moved closer and placed a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

"I don't want to talk about anything, Ted. I just want to get out of here." He bowed his head and put on his best scared little boy face. "Can you...handle things until I...until I get my head around this?"

"Whatever you need, son. Take your time."

With those words of encouragement, Randy left the room and his now deceased father with the intentions of finding a bar and getting wasted. Everybody would think he was drowning his sorrows. In reality, he would be celebrating the fact that _he_ was now the man. And there was no way he would rather celebrate than getting drunk, hopefully with some female company in one of his dad's...in one of _his_, bars.

* * *

The stool wobbled as she got to her feet, her insides wobbling with it. God, she was so drunk. Talk about drinking yourself into a stupor. She felt numb. Mission accomplished. It was what she had set out to do anyways. She didn't want to think about John. How could she when all she felt was anger? The bastard didn't even have the decency to show up at her birthday party. Was that what five years together got you these days? Empty promises and too many nights playing second fiddle to his never ending obsession with making detective. That was his real passion in life, not her. Tonight was just the last straw. It was over between them. Maybe it had been for a while now but she was just too afraid to admit it. She snorted as she tried to turn around, and then winced as her head began to spin. Just then, her eyes connected with those of an intense icy stare. She swallowed uneasily, feeling a little intimidated by the intensity she saw there. The guy would be leering at her if his expression wasn't so focused. There was a hint of determination there too. But determination for what? Despite that, she just couldn't seem to draw her gaze from him. She found herself moving closer, completely entranced by the depth of his stare and the look in his eyes.

Some hours later, as she crept into her empty bedroom and ignored the sick feeling in her gut, she knew all too well what the look in his eyes had been all about. And she regretted every damn second of it.


	2. Murder by the River

**A/N** - Thanks to those that reviewed the prologue. I tried to keep Trips away but he just wasn't having it lol. He will have a supporting role at best though. This is all about John/Trish/Randy. Speaking of Randy, he'll be up next. I hope to have an update posted soon.

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**3 Years Later**

The sun streamed in through the blinds early on a Saturday morning. Trish rolled onto her side with a heavy sigh. Her eyes squinted as she sat up and slowly but surely started to wake up. The sound of music and soft humming drifted in from the kitchen along with the wonderful smell of bacon. Her stomach growled and she eagerly threw the covers off and ran out into the living area of the apartment.

"Hey! I knew the smell of bacon would get to you. Even in your sleep you can't resist it!"

She laughed as she finally came to stand at his side. "Shut up!" She bumped his hip with her own and surveyed the kitchen. The table was set for two, there was a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee at each plate and a nice selection of bread in the middle. Her heart did a little flip. He had done all of this for her.

"That's no way to treat your fiancé, especially when he's been slaving way for the better part of the morning trying to cook you a nice breakfast!" John huffed. He turned his back to her in order to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry. Here," she promptly took a seat at the table and smiled at him. "You can serve me and maybe afterwards I'll show you how appreciative I am of your efforts."

John felt his stomach drop at her suggestion and he quickly began to serve the food onto the plates. In under a minute he managed to have a plate heaped with bacon, egg and sausage in front of her. He sat down with his own and noticed the amused expression on her face. "What?"

"Oh nothing."

"WHAT?" he asked again causing her to laugh out loud.

Trish chuckled. She popped some egg into her mouth and took a sip of her orange juice. "It's just that, well, every time I dangle the carrot of sex in front of you I seem to get whatever I want!"

"Dangle the carrot of sex? I don't even know what the hell that means!"

She put her best seductive face on and leaned across the table, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. "Why don't you hurry up and eat and you might find out," she whispered. She settled back into her chair but it was only for a moment as he quickly leapt to his feet and pulled her up.

"Ahhhhh! John! What are you doing?" she squealed helplessly as he flung her over his shoulder.

John laughed, making his way through the small apartment to their bedroom and dumping her on the bed. "I want my carrot," he deadpanned.

Trish looked at his serious expression before she burst into laughter and pulled him down beside her. Her eyes immediately shut at the feel of his lips on her neck. "What about breakfast?" she said breathlessly.

He pulled back and looked her dead in the eye. "It can wait."

That was all it took and soon they became caught up in each other. He rolled to his back and pulled her on top of his firm body. She opened her mouth to him while her hands ran along his hard chest. Food was the last thing on her mind. John groaned as her hands met his waistband and ventured lower. She was driving him crazy. He was about to roll them over again when the shrill ring of a phone interrupted the peaceful silence of the room. He pulled back and moved for the bedside table.

She grabbed his face and kissed him again. "Leave it," she whispered against his mouth. But she could only sigh in frustration as he gently pushed her off and reached for his cell phone.

"Sorry babe. It could be the precinct," he uttered apologetically before tugging the phone to his ear. "Cena."

Trish frowned and got up from the bed as he conversed with whoever was on the line. She knew it was the precinct. It always was the damn precinct. Sometimes she wondered where his loyalty lay, with her or with his job. Even after all this time, after all the fights, all the arguments, the make ups, him making detective and their engagement, he was still trying to impress every and anybody wearing a blue uniform. She was so over it. She only wished he would be too. She cursed under her breath as she wrapped her favourite robe around herself and listened to him agree to something. Great. This was going to be another Saturday spent alone.

"OK. I'm on it. I'll be there in an hour. Bye." John hung up the phone and turned nervously. He saw her standing over by the window and he didn't need to see her face to know she was pissed. But he couldn't say no, not to a case like this. There had been a mass homicide down by the river. The captain wanted the best men on the job. How could he refuse to go when he was being sought after like that? He just hoped to God she would understand.

"Trish?" No answer.

"Trish babe. Come on," he hushed into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. He sighed when she shrugged him off and rubbed at his temples. He sensed another fight. And if he was being honest, he really couldn't be bothered with it this time. Besides, he had somewhere to be. This would just have to wait. "I have to go down to the river. There was a mass homicide. They need the best guys and..."

Trish put her hand up to stop him. "Just go, John."

"Can we talk when I get back?"

The slamming of the bathroom door was his reply.

* * *

"Hey man. What's the story?" John asked as he cautiously side stepped a body bag and looked down at the man currently perched over it. He had never seen anything like this in his life. The place was covered in body bags, blood and shell casings. He'd seen some pretty horrific crime scenes in his time but this definitely took the cake.

"Hey! I didn't think you were on call this weekend," replied John's partner and friend, Paul Levesque. The two had made detective at the same time and had been paired together when Paul joined the precinct. Unlike some, they had stricken a great friendship and really did operate as a team.

"Yeah well, you know me. I can never stay away from a massacre."

Paul managed a small chuckle as he got to his feet before turning serious. "You got that right. This _was_ a massacre. Remember one of Orton's guys got hit last week? Well this is the retaliation only Orton decided to go after the whole fucking lot of them."

"Shit," John sighed running a hand over his face. He glanced around the abandoned warehouse once more, taking in the carnage. Rumblings of a new war between the cities rival gangs and families were getting more and more frequent. He knew that concern would multiply tenfold with this little incident. It was looking more and more like Orton was on a mission to wipe his competition out. The hits on rival gang members had went through the roof and his intentions were clear from this latest attack.

"An appropriate choice of words buddy," Paul said, patting him on the shoulder. "The CSI's think it happened late last night, early this morning. Some homeless guy was walking about the dock area and stumbled upon it a few hours ago." He shook his head as he took in the mess once more. It really was a grim sight.

"CENA! LEVESQUE!"

Both men turned at the sound of their Captain's raspy call. The small but venerable older man joined them and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "You guys are taking this one. If this Orton guy thinks he's going to pull this City into another gang war he's got another fucking thing coming. Do whatever you have to do, I want him caught and fried, you hear me? I've got the fucking Mayor on my back already and I want him fucking off it. We clear?"

"Crystal," John nodded before turning to his friend. "Come on, man. We've got work to do." He spotted some uniforms talking to the homeless guy that found the crime scene and started walking in their direction.

"It's nice to know that Donnelly's still an asshole," Paul muttered when they were out of earshot. "Jesus!"

John chuckled lowly. Their Captain was a hard-ass and every other word out of his mouth was 'fuck' but the man appreciated hard work and rewarded it well. He could put up with his attitude if it meant he would see the upside to all the arguments he was having at home. He sighed as Trish entered his mind. He didn't even want to think about her. Her juvenile reaction before he had left their apartment had left a sour taste in his mouth. Lately it felt like his Captain wasn't the only one with an attitude problem.

"John? You're spacing out on me."

He shook his head and smiled in an attempt to avoid having to explain himself to Paul. From his friend's concerned expression he knew a question and answer session was coming up and he wasn't in the mood. He just wanted to get stuck into this case and find some leads. "Sorry. I was just thinking about the case."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure man."

Paul nodded hesitantly. "OK."

"Great. So, let's hope this guy can give us something useful to go on otherwise we'll be stuck in the crime lab all day."

Paul agreed as they finally came to a stop in front of the old man. He immediately sucked in a breath at the stench radiating off of him. The poor guy was wearing ratty clothes that had holes all over and looked as bad as he smelled. He tried not to screw his face up as he began his questioning. "What's your name, sir?"

"Mi...Mi...Michael. Michael Jackson," the old man stuttered.

Paul and John exchanged sideways glances.

"Michael Jackson?" Paul mouthed in amusement.

John could only shrug his shoulders in response. He turned his attention back to the old man, noticing the smirks on the faces of the uniforms standing behind him.

"He says his name is Michael Jackson and that he's from Hollywood," one of the uniforms started. "We didn't get much out of him apart from what he saw before the CSI's turned up. Other than that, good luck." The young man tipped his hat before walking off with his partner.

"Well then, Michael, can you tell us how you ended up here this morning?" Paul asked as he whipped out his notepad and pen.

"I...I... was on my...way...way back from...from my con...con...concert when...I saw...some blood...blood...on the ground...I...I walked over and...saw all these...bodies...just...just layin' here," he stuttered. His eyes rolled around in his head and he twitched every now and then. It was clear that he was either high as a kite or completely insane.

John rolled his eyes. They weren't going to get anything else from him. They probably wouldn't even be able to put him on the stand, if it even got that far. He just knew this was the start of a bumpy ride and while he was pleased to be given the lead on such a big case, he feared for what it would mean for his relationship. Judging from the usefulness of the crazy man before him, things weren't looking all that good.


	3. Aftermath

**A/N** - Thanks for the reviews guys. They made me chuckle lol. I finally got a banner sorted so you can check that out if you want. Otherwise, I hope you like this!

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"_We are down by the Hudson River which was the scene of a brutal and barbaric killing spree early this morning. NYPD have barricaded the area off but we have been told that a total of fifteen bodies were found. The victims were known associates of the Hart Crime Family and all of them were shot dead in an attack by known underground rivals, the Orton Crime Family. Our reporter Jane Swanson spoke to District Attorney Chris Jericho earlier today. This is what he had to say:_

'_If Mr. Orton and Mr. Hart think that they are going to drag this city into the gang wars of the past then they are severely mistaken. Every available uniform has been called to arms. I will not let this great city fall victim to the squabbles of mobsters and scum. This will be dealt with and I assure everybody with the utmost conviction that those responsible for this savage genocide will be brought to justice.'_

_District Attorney Jericho seems committed to preventing an all out war but there is surely going to be retaliation on the part of the Hart Family and the question remains, just how bad is that retaliation going to be?"_

Randy snickered as he switched the TV off and settled back into his chair. He kicked his feet onto the desk and rested his arms behind his head. You had to love the newscasters kicking off about a new war. In his eyes there would be no war. Another attack like today and the Hart's would be virtually nonexistent. They might have their foot soldiers but you don't win wars with foot soldiers. You need a general, a commander. In just one day he had managed to wipe out almost half of Hart's top men. Now all he had to do was take out the rest. With this thought, the words of the DA rang in his head. So he was going to try and stop him? Maybe he would have to pay Mr. Jericho a little visit. After all, there was no quicker way to the top than to corrupt those already there. With Jericho on his side he wouldn't have to worry about stupid charges against himself and his men. Then he really would be invincible.

A loud knock on the door broke his thoughts. It was quickly opened and Ted DiBiase stepped through with an unreadable expression on his face. The old man looked worn. "Ted! What brings you by? I thought you were sleeping off that flu."

DiBiase managed a grim smile and took a seat. He tried not to get annoyed when the young man before him kept his legs propped up on the desk. He really had no respect for anybody or anything. He was nothing like his father. Sometimes he wondered how they were related. Bob Orton was a good man. Despite their line of business, he was a good man and Ted felt proud to serve him. Randy on the other hand was a completely different story. The kid walked around with his head held high. He didn't know what it felt like to live on nothing. Anything he ever wanted, he got. That was his good friend's biggest flaw. He was weak when it came to his children. He gave them whatever they wanted and they wouldn't know a hard day's work if it bit them in the ass. Randy Orton was the perfect example of that.

Randy chuckled and finally moved his feet from the table to pour them both a drink. "What? Have you gone mute on me?" He passed a glass into the other man's hand and then settled back into his previous position.

"No, I haven't gone mute. I just..." Ted sighed and took a long gulp of the exquisite scotch. "What the hell happened at the river today, Randy? I mean, Jesus Christ. Fifteen people! You took out fifteen people! That's unheard of these days. It's..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT IS!" Randy fumed. His hands thumped against the desk and he quickly got to his feet. "If you came in here to lecture me then don't bother. I'm getting really fucking sick of it."

DiBiase could only shake his head. "You know, your father wouldn't have..."

"You need a new line, Ted," Randy scoffed. "All this 'your father' business is starting to wear just a little thin. In case you have forgotten, I run the show now." He moved from behind the desk and got in the older man's face. "You work for me." His jaw flinched and his eyes glinted dangerously.

"I work for this family..."

"NO! YOU WORK FOR ME!" He creaked his neck and couldn't stop his fists from clenching impatiently. "And if you can't accept that...then I suggest you start looking for another form of employment. So, do we have a problem?"

Ted managed the smallest of smiles. "No. There's no problem. I think I'll go and get that sleep, maybe get rid of this flu once and for all."

"Good," Randy smiled. There was nothing he loved more than forcing someone into submission. He watched as the other man left the room before wandering back to his desk and finishing what was left in the tumbler. Now that he had the whole damn police force on notice he would have to become more subtle. There was no way he could pull off another mass attack like today. It would more than likely boil down to hitting each guy until there was nobody left. But that worked for him. Any way worked for him so long as it got rid of the Hart's and he was the last man standing. And he would be the last man standing. He didn't care if he had to take out cops and corrupt DA's. When it was all said and done, HE would be in control of this town.


	4. Sins of the Past

**A/N** - Thanks to **Karlyn, Cena's babydoll, Attitude Queen, alana2awesome** and **Team McOrton** for reviewing what I've put out so far. I really appreciate it and I'm happy that you all dig the concept. I was a bit hesitant to do a story like this because I didn't want it to come off crap lol. I'm only going off what I see in the movies/tv! This one might be a little rated at the start. Hope you like it!

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_She moaned as his lips tortured her inner thigh. He was driving her crazy. She needed him desperately. Her hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him from between her legs. His icy blue eyes locked with hers and literally burned a hole right through her. He looked at her with something akin to malice on his face. It was at that moment she knew she was just another fuck to him. This didn't mean anything. And it didn't. After the night she had, all she wanted to do was get wasted and forget. Then she had caught his attention and here they were. Her feeling the most alive she had felt in a long time. Him making her forget her stupid party and who wasn't at it. John was the last thing on her mind. Right now all she could think about was having him inside of her. She needed it like the very air she breathed. Finally breaking his intense stare, he smirked, almost wickedly before pushing into her with one hard smooth thrust. And that was all it took. She whined and ground her hips against him desperately, wanting to suck him into her as deep as possible. He thrust against her as hard as he could. He was hitting all the right spots. She swore she was in heaven. Her stomach tightened to the point that it almost hurt but she didn't care. He felt way too fucking good. And then it began to happen. She started to unravel, her body finally reaching its limit. She shuddered fiercely as she came. He pounded into her a few more times before succumbing to whatever was building inside of him. Just as quickly, he pulled out of her and rolled off the bed. She lay there in a euphoric daze. The sound of him shuffling around in the bathroom could barely be heard because of the loud beating in her ears. A minute later he walked out of the bathroom. She could feel him watching her so she turned to find him just standing there._

"_Do you have to leave?" he slurred slightly. They were both hammered._

_She thought about it for a second. What was waiting for her when she got home? Nothing. She shook her head and patted the bed beside her. "Not yet. I'm ready for round two if you are."_

"_Round two, huh?" he smirked deviously as he got into the bed beside her. "This isn't a game." His hand gently gripped around her neck. He moved his head to her level and practically glared at her before moving to her ear. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight," he whispered into her ear. His hand tightened ever so subtly._

_She felt like she should be scared. But she wasn't. Instead she was turned on. His mere words alone had her body thumping in anticipation. She roughly pushed his head back so she could look him in the eye. "Then fuck me."

* * *

_

Trish woke in a sweat. She threw the covers off her body and wiped the moisture from her brow. Her body was almost shaking. She could feel wetness between her legs. What the hell had prompted that? She hadn't thought about that night for a long time. Every now and then she would remember. But nothing like what just happened, nothing so vivid. She actually felt like she was physically aching for him.

"Fuck!" she sighed in frustration. A quick glance to the side told her that John wasn't home yet either. What the hell time was it anyway? The green digits read 23:15. Surely he couldn't still be at work. Maybe he was out in the living room. Wherever he was, she really didn't give a damn. Getting out of the bed, she ran a hand over her weary face as she walked to the small en suite bathroom. She splashed some cool water onto her sweaty skin and sighed. Her head was screwed up. Why would she be thinking what she had just been thinking? It couldn't be about sex. She and John had quite an active sex life. Well, they did have an active sex life when they weren't fighting which seemed to be all the time lately. Her engagement ring sparkled under the dim light. Sometimes she questioned why she was even wearing it. Then she would look at him and remember how much she loved him. But was love really worth the lonely nights and playing second fiddle to his job? She thought things would change when he made Detective. How foolish she had been. Now he had some farfetched ambition to become Precinct Captain. She didn't mind that he dreamed big. In fact, she encouraged it. But that was so far down the line. She didn't see why he had to destroy the life he was living now just to get a shot at something twenty or thirty years down the line. No matter how many times he told her he loved her and that she was the number one thing in his life, it still stung when it was almost midnight and he still wasn't home. A soft ruffling sound coming from outside the bathroom indicated that maybe he had come after all. She quickly shut off the tap and quietly pushed the door open. She watched as he tiredly pulled at his tie. He looked beat.

"What a day, what a day," John mumbled to himself. He removed his gun from its holster and set it on the bedside table along with his badge. No lights were on and he hadn't even noticed that Trish was not in the bed. His eyes were barely even open. He was so tired. After their completely useless chat with Mr. Jackson earlier today, he and Paul and spent the rest of the day doing mundane and boring leg work followed by endless red tape. Tomorrow they would get stuck into the real detective work but today had left him completely spent. He began to undo the buttons on his shirt when he looked up and noticed her standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He managed a small smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Trish replied, slowly walking out of the room to stand at the foot of the bed beside him.

John kicked off his shoes and pulled his open shirt off. He looked at her hesitantly. "I didn't think you were going to speak to me."

"I got over it."

"Good. Because I hate fighting with you," he sighed. They looked at each other for a few moments until John saw her gaze soften. "Come here," he whispered and pulled her into his arms. He held her close and breathed in the fruity scent of her hair. He thanked his lucky stars that she wasn't in the mood for a fight because he sure as hell wasn't. All he wanted was to get into bed and get some sleep before he had to get up and do it all over again. He rubbed her back and placed a soft kiss in her hair. "I love you, you know."

She looked up at him and gently kissed his lips. "I know." Her arms gave him a quick squeeze before she let go and got back into the bed. "Did you eat? I left you some pasta, it's in the oven."

John looked at her strangely. That was the response he got? He told her that he loved her and she asked if he was hungry? What the hell was that all about? He stripped down to his boxers and quickly pulled a t-shirt on. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." When he finally got in beside her, she rubbed his arm affectionately. "Good night, babe."

"Night," he half whispered as he watched her turn away from him and cuddle into herself. He stared at her back for a few moments utterly confused. Was she still mad? If she was he would have preferred them to fight so he could go and sleep on the couch without this awkward tension between them while they were in such close proximity. With a heavy sigh, he settled down himself and tried to ignore the feeling in his gut telling him that something just wasn't right.


	5. 45mm

**A/N** - Sorry about the delay but I kept playing around with this until I felt it was right. Hopefully it is lol. Thanks for your feedback!

* * *

"Here are the results from the weapons test, guys. Your murderer used a Colt 5.56mm Automatic Rifle. There's some impressive spray action with this thing. That's why they were able to take down so many targets at once. But we did find a small number of .45mm shell casings. Not a lot but some. It seems like somebody else was there firing this thing too. As you know it doesn't have the same multiple kill capabilities as the automatic but it's a precision weapon. That's all we got."

John absently smiled at the lab technician as he took the proffered results page. So Orton had a few guys using automatics and a few with .45's. He didn't for one second believe that one person did this. There's no way he would take that chance. Despite the little time he had been on this case, he already felt like he was getting inside Orton's head. To catch a killer you had to think like one. And that's exactly what he planned to do in order to catch this bastard.

"Let's take these over to the morgue and see if we can match up what killed who," Paul said, pulling his suit coat back on and heading for the door.

"I have a better idea. Let's call the morgue while we go to lunch. I'm fucking starving," John replied with a small smile. He left the apartment early this morning without breakfast so he hadn't eaten all day. It was either that or face Trish and for some reason, he just really didn't want to. Not when she was acting the way she was lately.

Paul slapped his friend on the back. "Deal. But you know, it takes a sick person to think of food when they are talking about the morgue, buddy. You really should get help for that."

If Paul was good for nothing else, he would always be there to make him smile. John laughed and stalked down the corridor. "Oh fuck off!"

* * *

Trish bit her lip in an attempt to keep from snapping at her current customer. The lady frequented the store and she was a God damn pain in the ass. Unfortunately she had been picked to go and see if she needed assistance. She worked in an expensive designer boutique on Fifth Avenue. The store catered to celebrities and socialites, people with money and lots of it. Most times she loved it. But when this old hag came strutting in like she owned the place she hated it.

"Dear, do you have this scarf in a more subtle red? I don't want to be like a warning signal when I enter the room for District Attorney Jericho's Banquet next week."

She offered a tight lipped smile and shook her head. "I'm sorry ma'am but this is the only colour available. It was an exclusive in the Fall collection this year. If you would like I can go see if we have anything else in a more subtle red?"

"No dear. I only buy the best. If Hermes doesn't do a scarf the way I want then I'll just purchase what they have." The old lady thrust the scarf into her face then stalked to the counter. "I'll take the scarf and the red tote bag please."

Trish gripped the scarf tight in her fingers and squeezed wishing it was the old woman's head instead. With a beautiful smile to mask her anger, she got through the transaction as quickly as she could manage and bid farewell to her customer. Hopefully the next time she came in her boss would send somebody else to deal with her arrogant crap. She sighed and raked a hand through her long blonde hair. She just was not in the mood for anything today. She woke up this morning in a sweat after having another dream about her night of passion with a sordid stranger. If that wasn't enough, John was nowhere to be found when she finally dragged herself out of bed. He had left for work without saying a thing. Maybe she deserved it after being so cold to him last night. But they were engaged for Christ sakes. A simple hello or even a note before work wouldn't kill him would it? Her mask of indifference started to appear again. She hated it but lately it was all she could feel towards him. Feeling indifferent felt better than feeling second best. And if this morning was anything to go by, she most certainly was second best.

"Hey Trish!"

She turned to find her good friend Stacy waving her over. She absently walked towards her and joined the small group of women. They were huddled together and it was obvious that they were gossiping.

"We were just talking about that massive homicide down by the river last night and they didn't believe me when I told them that your John was on the case. Tell them!"

She half heartedly shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. "He is. In fact he's on it right now. Probably trying to solve the whole damn thing himself," she muttered.

The other girls looked at her curiously. Clearly something was going on between the future Mr and Mrs John Cena. But from the expression on the blonde woman's face they knew not to pry.

But Stacy knew that something was up. She quickly dismissed the rest of her colleagues and reached out to take her friend by the arm. "Are you OK, Trish? You seem a little...off."

"I really don't want to talk about it, Stacy."

"Trish..."

"Please? We'll talk later. Right now I'm just not in the mood."

Stacy watched as her friend walked away and started aimlessly fixing a small rack of blouses. Something was most definitely up with her and it had something to do with John. For some reason she had a really bad feeling in her gut about the whole thing.

* * *

Randy dragged himself from the messy bed and stretched his tired limbs. He glanced at the naked woman still dead to the world in front of him and smiled. That had been some night. With a heavy sigh he rubbed a hand over his face and reached for his pants. His eyes caught sight of the clock on the nightstand and widened in surprise. It was almost two in the afternoon. Damn he hadn't meant to sleep in so long. Then again he had been up well into the early hours getting his rock soft. He felt a faint vibration in his pocket and quickly pulled out his phone. It was Ted.

"What?"

"Where the hell are you, Randy? We were supposed to be meeting about the new alcohol shipments a half hour ago!" Ted's angry voice boomed down the line.

Randy frowned. He felt like telling him to fuck off. Instead he told him that he would be there as soon as possible. The frown stayed in place when his nameless lady friend rolled over in the bed. The sheets had fallen off her body and he got a perfect view of what she had to offer. Too bad he wouldn't be able to enjoy her again. "Fuck sake," he muttered under his breath as he tugged his shirt on. With a final glance towards the bed, he finally turned and exited the apartment.

"Where the fuck am I?" He said to himself when he walked out onto the street. He barely remembered last night. All he could manage was when he picked her up in the bar and they had made out at his table. She was almost ready to give him a hand job in the booth but he stopped her. He wanted more than that. He always did. After they stumbled out of the bar he couldn't remember a damn thing. Well nothing other than how good she felt wrapped around him. Brushing those thoughts out of his head, he glanced at his surroundings. Fourth Avenue. Well that was easy enough. He pulled his cell phone out again and punched in a number. "Cody, send a car to Fifth Avenue to pick me up." Around ten minutes later and he was lingering around some women's clothes boutique. His foot tapped impatiently as he waited for the car to pick him up. He had a quick peek through the window and his face scrunched up in confusion when he saw the knockout blonde standing inside. She was messing around with shirts or something but he wasn't the least interested in those. He felt as if he knew her from somewhere. She turned to start working on something else and he finally got a good look at her. Yes, he definitely knew her from somewhere. He debated on whether or not to go in.

"Mr. Orton."

That settled his question. This chick could wait. Right now he had to get his alcohol shipments sorted. The last thing he wanted was for his bars to dry up. He promptly turned and got into the waiting car, his mind focused on the meeting ahead.

* * *

"Fuck, I needed that," John sighed as he patted his full stomach. With that feast under his belt he was now fully ready to jump back into work. He took a long pull of his soda and watched as Paul answered his ringing phone.

"Six guys shot with the same .45 and the rest with different automatics? That's perfect. Thanks." Paul quickly hung up and nodded at his partner. "You heard it. Whoever was using that .45 took out nearly half of the victims. He must be a good shot alright. Jesus."

"Why would one guy use a different gun than everybody else, especially if he was the best shot? Why wouldn't they have him using an automatic?" John questioned.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe he wanted to be different or make a statement."

"Do you think Orton does his own dirty work?"

"You think he was using the .45?"

John frowned as he thought about it. The guys on top never got their hands bloody. But somehow he had the feeling that Randy Orton was different. He had to have some balls to order a hit for fifteen people all at once. Maybe he liked to get involved. "Why not? From what the psych guys have said, we know Orton's a bit of a lunatic. I bet he gets off on that kind of thing."

"The lab didn't have any way of tracing the gun did they?" Paul's gears were now spinning too. He had a feeling that his buddy was on to something. They were starting to build a profile of their target.

"No man," John sighed. "The registration was filed down and there were no prints or anything. We aren't going to catch this guy out like that. Orton's operation is a well oiled machine. It's going to take a while to crack him." As he thought about that his head began to throb. More time on this case meant no time for Trish. She wasn't going to like that.

Paul noticed the almost worried expression that crossed his friend's face and frowned. He had been really out of sorts these last few days. "Hey, you alright?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." John got to his feet and tried to smile convincingly. "Come on, this thing isn't going to solve itself!"


	6. Friendly Advice

**A/N** - So it's practically been a year since I last updated this one. But I read over it the other day and wondered why I had started to neglect it in the first place. I totally get to dabble into an area I don't really get to in the wrestling world lol. This chapter is just a way for me to kind of worm my way back into the story. Hopefully I can get back on track with things pretty soon. And btw, just like I couldn't keep Trips away, I couldn't keep Mrs. Trips away either lol. They're just too awesome to keep out of things!

* * *

Randy nodded at some of his men guarding the entrance to the elevator. It was an industrial elevator and would take him down to the basement where the meeting was being held. To the outside world the old building just looked like a regular Pawn Store. Little did they know that the Pawn Store was the legitimate business front to the vast Orton family crime syndicate. He pulled at his tie and tried to fix it up before stepping off the large platform and rounding a couple of corners. The underground complex was huge and housed offices, equipment, stock, even housing for some of his men. As he spotted the group of several men inside one of the offices to his right, he took a deep breath before bursting into the meeting with a grin on his face.

"Randy, how very nice of you to join us."

He ignored the pissed off tone in DiBiase's voice and continued the grin all the while shaking the hands of the other men in the room. They had never bought from them before so he was a little wary. But they were selling their stuff for a lot cheaper than if he was to buy it legally, most likely because it was stolen. As if he gave a damn. "Gentlemen! I'm so sorry I'm late, I hope I haven't missed too much."

"Oh no, sir. We have just finished up actually," one of the men replied in a thick Russian accent. He was older with thinning hair and a hardened face. He motioned to Ted in the seat before him and smiled. "Your associate and I hammered out all the details. I'm sure my boss will be most pleased with our deal."

Randy looked at Ted with a sideways glance and upon his small nod of approval, reached forward to shake the tough Russian's hand again. He smiled as the sound of scraping chairs filled the room. "As will I. You tell him that it was definitely a pleasure doing business with him and that if he ever needs anything, he knows where to find me."

"Absolutely, sir," the Russian nodded.

"Rhodes. DiBiase. See these gentlemen out please," Randy called over his shoulder. He watched as young Cody Rhodes and Ted DiBiase's son stepped forward and began escorting their Russian friends off the premises. He turned to the elder DiBiase when they were out of ear shot and smiled. "Well now, that seemed to have gone well. What did I miss?"

DiBiase Senior bit his tongue and held in his anger. If he hadn't have been here the Russians would have turned up for empty negotiations. What type of message would that have sent? He shook his head briefly before setting his eyes upon the cocky young man in front of him. Against his better judgment he decided to just let it rip and let the chips fall where they may. "You shouldn't have missed anything, Randy? Where the hell where you? And what the fuck where you thinking?"

"Don't you fucking take that tone with me, Ted!" Randy started, just about to go into a full blown rant when he was cut right off.

"Oh I'll take whatever tone with you I want, son. If it weren't for me you quite possibly would have had your hands full with the Russians right now. Then what would you have done? You have every damn cop in this town on your back right now. The Hart's are out for blood. You've burned every bridge with most of the other families and small time operations in the city and to top it all off you're out gallivanting instead of being here where you need to be!" Ted fumed. He was breathing heavily and was surprised to see that Randy appeared to be listening. The shocked expression on his face was enough to make him keep going. "If you want to be even half as successful and rich as your father was then you need to start getting involved and by that I sure as hell don't mean shooting up a bunch a people at the dock. You want to get your hands dirty? That's fine so long as you get them dirty on the financial side too. I know you can do it, Randy. You're just choosing not to."

Randy's expression was blank as he just looked the older man in the face. He wanted nothing more than to grab him and beat his head against the desk for speaking to him like that. But the worst of it all was that the old man was right. Since his father's death he had taken control full force. The first few years were all him. Now he was getting complacent. Ted was absolutely right in saying that he could have royally fucked things up with the Russians today and he didn't need that. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "You're right, Ted."

Ted almost choked. What was that? Did Randy just say that he was right? He kept staring on, just waiting for the inevitable 'but' to come but it didn't.

"You're absolutely right. I don't know what has gotten into me lately but it ends right now," Randy nodded his head in determination. "Just watch me take this family to heights my father could have only dreamed about."

The slamming shut of the door made Ted jump slightly. His eyes followed Randy out of the room and eventually around the corner until he disappeared out of sight. He seemed to have lit a fire under the young man's ass. With a triumphant smile he too made his way out of the room with the mind for getting back to business.

* * *

"Fuuuuuuck," Paul whined as he folded his arms on the desk and laid his head upon them.

John let out a heavy puff of air. He felt exactly the same as his partner. They had been going over everything they had on the Orton family all day. Previous crime reports dating all the way back to Orton Senior, the locations of suspected illegal businesses, his bars, prostitute rings, drug shops, hits, murders, attempted murders, all of it. The rap sheet was a mile long and they weren't even finished. He absently scratched at the back of his head and let out a chuckle as Paul started mumbling to himself against the sleeve of his shirt. He grabbed a piece of blank paper, wadded it into a ball and then laughed out loud as it smacked his buddy right on the forehead.

"Wha…." Paul groaned as he lifted his head and swatted at whatever it was that just hit him. When he heard his friend laughing he immediately glared in his direction. "Nice to see you find this whole thing so funny."

"What's the matter, Paulie? You don't like actually having work to do?" John teased.

"Not when I could be at home doing something a hell of a lot more productive with my wife, no," he grumbled. "This is getting us nowhere."

John's teasing tone suddenly disappeared as he was reminded of what was waiting for him at home. He let out a heavy sigh as Trish entered his mind. He didn't know what was up or down with her anymore.

"Surely you know what I'm talking about, man. You've got the beautiful Trish waiting for you when we finish up here," Paul smiled. Being partners meant spending a lot of time together. Because of that he was very familiar with Trish just as John was the same way with his wife, Stephanie. In fact, any time there was any sort of Precinct party or shindig going on, the two women seemed to get on extremely well. But his smile soon faltered when he saw the strange expression on his friend's face. Suddenly growing serious, he got up from the desk and leaned forward. Any time his partner's fiancée had been mentioned lately it drew that same withdrawn response. "Hey, you wanna tell me what's going on there?"

"What do you mean?" John half laughed in attempt to brush the whole thing off. When he looked into his friend's hazel eyes he knew it wasn't happening. He held out his hands and spoke light heartedly. "We just had a fight, man, that's all. It's nothing to worry about. We'll get over it."

Paul titled his head suspiciously. "Another fight? Seems to me like you guys are fighting all the time."

"Yeah, well not everybody has a wife as understanding as you, Paul," John snapped and immediately regretted it.

"Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?" When he received no response Paul's concern only grew. Something was up. "John?" he asked gently in the hopes that the other man would finally open up.

John stared at the desk before raising his eyes and managing a sad smile. "We're always fighting because of this."

"Because of what?"

"Because I'm here at nine o'clock at night instead of being at home with her."

Paul shook his head in confusion. "You don't have a regular job, John. What the hell does she expect? You're a fucking detective!"

"That's what I keep telling her but it doesn't seem to count for anything! She fucking hates that I have this job, I know it. Every time the phone rings I know we're going to fight because I'll have to go and she just can't accept that. It's driving me crazy, man. I don't know how to fucking deal with it anymore," John thumped the desk in frustration and was just about to start up again when he spotted a familiar face walking through the door to the main cubicle area. His anger quickly subsided and he let out a genuine smile. He nodded and watched as his Paul's face lit up and he got up to greet the woman who came to stop at their joined desks. After kissing her husband, Stephanie Levesque turned to John himself and pulled him into a great big hug.

"John! I haven't seen you in forever!"

The pair broke the hug and he stepped back, unable to stop smiling due to the infectious grin on the woman's face. "It's good to see you again, Steph. And you can blame this guy right here. We all know he's keeping you locked away so you won't smarten up and leave his sorry ass!"

"Hey!" Paul frowned as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist. He glared at his friend for a second before turning to his wife. "What are you doing here though, babe? It's late."

"I know it's late. And knowing you two you probably haven't stopped to eat dinner yet. So I thought I'd come and try to pry you away and get you out of this damn precinct!"

Paul grinned and started reaching for his suit jacket. "That sounds good to me."

Stephanie smiled as she watched him pack up before turning to look to John who was just standing there. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Get your damn coat on, we're leaving!" She rolled her eyes at him when he still just stood there. "Don't make me tell you twice, John Cena! It's been far too long since we've last caught up with each other. Your ass is coming whether you want it to or not!"

John narrowed his eyes at Paul who just laughed at the fact that he had gotten told off. He snatched his jacket up and put away the strewn files on his desk.

"I think this is exactly what you need, man. You're having woman troubles and who better to talk to than a woman, right?" Paul grinned, taking Stephanie's hand as the trio headed towards the door.

Stephanie's head snapped to the left so she could look at John, her pretty features marred with concern. "You're having woman troubles?"

John bit back his reply before deciding to just spill it. She would have got it out of him eventually. "Yeah. Things aren't going so great with Trish right now, I….." He stopped when Stephanie held up her hand.

"Stop! You can tell me all of it after dinner, alright? First of all we're getting you a drink, John. You look like you could use it."

As he stepped out onto the chilly street with his friends, any thoughts of the case or his fiancée were pushed to the back of his head. He couldn't remember the last time he just chilled out and he knew he wasn't going to be the third wheel with Paul and Stephanie tonight. Steph wouldn't allow it after knowing that he was having with trouble with Trish. No, he would be well looked after. And hey, maybe in the end he would come of it with some helpful advice.


End file.
